Always in Our Hearts
by deweydecimal
Summary: Patrick and Timothy take some time to remember Timothy's first mother.


_ A/N: I really didn't like how S04.E07 just seemed to push Timothy's mother aside; like she's not to be spoken of now that he has a perfect, new mother. Also, the show has never really addressed Patrick's relationship with his first wife – we hear about his trauma from the war, but nothing about how his wife died or how he felt – sometimes it seems like he replaced her a little too easily with Shelagh. So I've rewritten the scene in the darkroom/bathroom. This is my first-ever fanfic, would love some feedback!_

Timothy watched the photo take shape in the tray of developing fluid. A smile spread over his face as he saw the chubby little boy grinning into the camera with his parents, a birthday cake with two candles on the table in front of them. "Mummy," he whispered, the smile turning sad. His mum had loved to bake, and she made brilliant cakes. He remembered her pink-and-white-checked Battenburg cakes; he always loved the contrasting colours and the marzipan on top. When he was older, he loved to help Mummy in the kitchen – dumping flour, mixing batter, and, of course, licking the bowl.

There was a knock at the door, and his father's voice. "Tim, are you still developing, or can I open the door?"

Timothy hesitated. His dad had been sad for so long after Mummy died, and now they were all so happy with Shelagh and baby Angela…should he show him the photo? Yet he sometimes wanted to talk to Dad about Mummy, and he wasn't sure how. "You can come in now," Timothy said at last.

Patrick opened the door and slipped in, closing it behind him. "What was on them?" he asked. "I'm trying to think when it would have been." He looked down at the photo in the tray, and exclaimed, "Good heavens! Your second birthday! I remember now. Mummy made a carrot cake – she was always trying to get you to eat more vegetables. And we gave you that toy fire engine. It was a Sunday, and I wasn't on call – no danger of missing your birthday dinner that year!"

"Why didn't you develop the film?" Timothy asked.

"This wasn't actually our regular camera," Patrick told him. "It was Grandpa Turner's – he must have taken this photo. He fell ill not long after your birthday. After he died, the camera came to me, and I never actually used it. It went into the attic, and I never thought to take the film out and develop it."

They were silent for a moment, looking at the photo. Patrick noticed that Timothy was visibly struggling with his thoughts. "Dad?" his son said softly, keeping his face turned to the photo in the tray.

"Yes?"

"Do you still…think about Mummy sometimes?"

Patrick's heart constricted. How Elizabeth had loved this boy! His own grief had diminished, but he always felt a surge of sorrow at the thought that Elizabeth would never get to see her boy grow up, never come to know him as an older, thoughtful child, and someday as a man.

"Of course I do," he said softly, "I think of her often. You remind me of her so very often. She would be so proud of you. It sounds odd, but sometimes I have the thought that I wish I could talk to her, tell her how you're doing, how you're growing up so fast. I miss our talks."

Timothy's brow creased. "But you love Mum - Shelagh - now, and we have Angela…"

Patrick put an arm around his son's shoulders. "Yes, we've built a new family, and I love Shelagh now. But…" he said. He paused, trying to put his complicated feelings into words. "Your mother was my first love, Tim, and I loved her for so long before you came along, and even more after. Nothing replaces or changes that. I love Shelagh now, but I loved Mummy then, and I'll always love her memory. I can hold both of those loves in my heart, just like you can. You can call Shelagh Mum, but Mummy was still the one who gave birth to you and loved you in your early years. That love will always be with you. You have two mothers, and you can love them both. And Shelagh understands that we keep Mummy in our hearts; she and I have talked about this. She understands it because she keeps her own mother in her heart."

Timothy nodded, and looked back down at his Mummy's beaming face in the photo. He brushed away tears, and said softly, "But I'm starting to forget, and I feel like I didn't really know her like I know Mum, because I was too little."

Patrick squeezed his shoulder. "Then I should talk to you more often about her," he said. "I want you to know what she was like, the jokes and stories and songs she liked, how we met and fell in love, what she thought about the important things in life. Mummy and Shelagh were very different, and I want you to know them both."

"I'd like that," Timothy said softly.

"Then we'll talk again soon," Patrick told his son. But right now, you'd better tidy up in here before Angela's bath time!"


End file.
